


Gimme Gimme Gimme

by Hanako_Cinnamon



Series: New Boots and Contracts [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Sex, Bad Decisions, Established Stanchez, F/M, Good Decisions, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Recreational Drug Use, Threesome - F/M/M, Underage Drinking, Vaginal Sex, actual historical club, allllll the favorites, apparently I can't just write pwp I have to do research or it isn't Real Porn (tm), bad decisions that are good decisions, but not so much so that you'd notice, but you're old enough to vote so don't worry, cheap motel, consistent tenses we don't need no stinkin' consistent tenses, good decisions that are bad decisions, i did research, minimal drug use, no betas we die like men, questionable life choices, say mid-30's and mid-40's respectively, stanchez, the 80's, the booze is the only thing you're not of age for, the word decision looks really weird when you stare at it a lot, well minimal considering this is Rick, younger Stan and Rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 00:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20144401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanako_Cinnamon/pseuds/Hanako_Cinnamon
Summary: Mired in the academic doldrums in a small university, weighed down by the Cold War and the Reagan years, you're on a Spring Break trip to NYC with your friends and you're determined to find something to liven up your dull existence.





	Gimme Gimme Gimme

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guilty_pleasures_abound](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_pleasures_abound/gifts).

> So this tumblr I'm fond of posts a lot of Stanchez art and then this plot bunny started chewing on the back of my head, and here we are. Keep in mind that my exposure to Rick and Morty is mainly through YouTube clips and reading many, many highly kudos-ed fics on here to try and get his character voice right. Guilty_Pleasures_Abound, I owe you a fifth of whiskey for Blooms of Fortune - *goddamn* - but since I have no way of portalling it to you this fic will have to do. Hope it's adequate.
> 
> The title is actually a Black Flag song, but if anyone wants to think of it as ABBA instead I certainly won't tell you otherwise. Honestly, I'd love to tell you all that I listened to thrash the whole way through writing this, but when I was working on it at home (as opposed to the time I spent on it at work, oops) I mainly listened to the Slackers and Toots and the Maytals. Make of that what you will.
> 
> I know it says I updated but I didn't actually update so much as realize that the formatting did some weird things with the italics and spacing and fixed it. And today I found a couple of spelling errors, goddammit. 
> 
> A friendly reminder - comments are like kalaxian crystals for writers, except the high lasts way longer. Hook up all your favorite writers with some today!

You step through the doors of the club and into the press of people and immediately decide you need a drink.

Technically, you’re not old enough to drink yet- you can vote, but you can’t drink, what kind of fucked-up society is this, anyway- but it’s New York City and it’s the 1980’s and it’s Spring Break and the bombs are going to drop any day now, so who the hell cares? Certainly not the bouncers or the barman; the cops don’t come here because the volatile mix of every type of club-goer - the Danceteria was still open when the other clubs closed, and thus you’re rubbing shoulders with people who drifted in from CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City, Studio 54, Fever and the Latin Quarter, and a hundred other smaller places, from S&M clubs to arthouse theaters to drag shows to biker bars to rockabilly meets- which meant the Danceteria was always two wrong moves away from a riot and the cops stayed well away. As long as you had cash in hand you were old enough to pick your poison. 

And you’re going to need some kind of poison to get through this. It’s amazing and entrancing, sure, but it’s also loud as shit and bright as hell - there are five floors of shouting, singing, talking, fighting, writhing humanity, a DJ on two floors, a band on the other two, a theater on the fifth, lights of every color and description, the tremendous heat of hundreds of people crammed into one place, the mingled smells of perfume, weed, soap, unwashed bodies, washed bodies, far too much cologne, fresh sweat, and sex, and you were starting to think the whole place needed a seizure warning. Your friends had vanished into the crowd the moment you were over the threshold and you were still trying to get your bearings - was that Mike D talking to Sade by the Basquiat installation? Was that woman on the stairs naked or wearing a taupe skintight PVC suit? Did the dude in a loincloth and cowboy boots who just checked out the guy next to you really have “chode” tattooed on his forehead? What the fuck _ was _ this place? - and liquor was sounding better and better every loudly-but-excellently-soundtracked second. 

The bar is busy but not wildly so; you consider than with five floors there’s probably plenty of booze deployment areas to go around. It takes three overpriced drinks in short succession before you relax enough to consider possibly enjoying yourself; it’s certainly the most inventively furnished bacchanalia you’ve ever seen (even though it’s the only one you’ve ever seen) and standing against the wall with a drink watching the crowd is like a circus, a concert, an art exhibition, a blockbuster, and a gladiatorial combat all at the same time. You’re fascinated. You’re attracted. You’re confused. A man dressed like a horse trots by carrying a woman dressed like Humpty Dumpty on his back and you realize that you’re not, in fact, drunk enough for this.

That, at least, you can remedy. You go back for drinks four and five, leaning on the bar in between a buxom woman dressed like Elvira (or possibly _ is _ Elvira, this place is wild) and a man in remarkably normal clothes; black tee shirt, jeans, brown leather jacket, a hint of gold at his throat that the shirt covers most of. He’s older than you are by at least a decade, tall and broad, with muscular arms and solid shoulders and a bit of a gut that doesn’t detract from the clear strength in his frame. His face is handsome and his grin is easy as he beckons the bartender over, and he pushes unruly brown hair back behind his rather large ears as he orders two drinks, not looking in the least disturbed by his surroundings. 

He must sense you looking- or else you’re less subtle than you think you are- and he turns to you with a friendly smile, cocking his head to look at you in the flashing neon glow. 

“Hey there, doll. You need somethin’?”

Your brain runs through a dozen considerations in a half-second - _ you’re here for an adventure after all, but then he’s the most normal looking guy here, how much adventure could he possibly be, there’s a guy over there covered in piercings and holidays lights being led around by a woman on spiked heels holding a whip, that’s adventure_, but then again there’s something about those dark eyes and easy grin that have already captured your full attention. 

“Company, “ is the word your brain settles on, and he nods, smile growing wider. 

“That, we can do, “ he says, and hands one of his drinks to the man to his right, who leans around him with an easy familiarity and gives you a predatory grin. 

This one is tall and thin, but those words don’t quite bring across the effect; basketball players are tall, models are thin, but this man looks as though he had been stretched on a rack. His limbs are ridiculously long, fingers lengthy and narrow like a concert pianist, and his dark hair is styled within an inch of its life, defying gravity in huge spikes. He looks a bit older yet, but not so much that it gives you pause, and he's not handsome, per se, but he’s distinctive and carries himself with a mix of competence and confidence and jaded amusement that you find compelling. He’s skinny as a rail, dressed in a mix of black on black clothes with gaps of fashion distressing showing stripes of pale, pale skin. His pupils are dilated to the point where you can’t quite tell what color his eyes are, but his eyeliner is better applied than yours and his hands are steady when he pulls a cigarette from his lips and blows a long stream of smoke.

“M’ Rick, “ he says, and throws his drink back as though it was water, slamming it back on the bar and yelling to the bartender.

“And I’m Stan, “ says the other, holding out his hand. You give yours to him, along with your name, but instead of shaking it he touches his lips to your knuckles. It should be cheesy. You try to make it cheesy. But his eyes are knowing and his smile is slow as molasses and twice as dark and sweet and shit, you’re going for it. 

“So what brings you to New York?” you say as he lets you go, trying to keep your voice steady.

“We’re on vacation, “ Stan says, “Rick convinced me I was workin’ too hard, so I closed my business down for a couple of weeks and we hit the road. It wasn’t a bad time for it, anyway; tourist season won’t start for another couple a’ months.” 

Your mouth opens to question how he could have been working too hard if the tourist season was over, but Rick pops up behind you and slips his cigarette between your lips and you cough as you take a drag you weren’t ready for. Stan chuckles but Rick guffaws, bending at the waist and howling like that was the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Maybe right now, it is. 

"Hit him if you want, sugar, " Stan says, "But I'll warn you, sometimes he likes it."

You consider this, then give him a slow smile of your own. "And what do you like?"

He reaches for you and runs the pad of his thumb along your jawbone. You turn your head into his hand and he rumbles in approval.

"What I see. I like it a lot."

“It’s a nice view from here too, “ you reply.

“I’m glad. Makes me a little more hopeful you’ll say yes when I ask you to dance.”

He holds out his hand and you take it and he leads your expertly into the crowd, brushing by and moving around people without disturbing them- a miracle, really, considering that the place is asses to elbows and everyone’s without apparent care for their surroundings.

There’s a cluster of figures on what you assume is the actual dance floor that’s more crowded than the rest of the floor, if that were even possible, but Stan pulls you into the press of without missing a beat, taking your hand in one of his and using the other at the small of your back to pull you close. You dance together and you’re surprised at how good he is. Most of the bigger guys you’ve known weren’t limber, but somehow he manages to balance power with a fair chunk of grace.

Someone presses themselves against your back and you startle, but Rick’s chuckle in your ear makes you relax and roll your eyes at the same time. 

“My turn, “ he says, and yanks you back against him, putting his hands on your hips and rocking from left to right, pulling you with him. He’s clearly happy to be here, you think, as you notice the rather insistent pressure against the top of your ass- Christ, he’s tall- and his thumbs are doing fascinating things to the edge of skin between your shirt and your bottoms. His teeth graze and then grip on the side of your neck and you freeze with a surprised squeak. Rick chuckles and kisses you on the spot he'd bitten, turning you back around to face him while Stan pulls you close again. Rick presses in and wraps his arms as far around the both of you as he can reach. Actual dancing is outside the realm of possibility in this position, but you still all sway to the beat- or at least, they do and you follow, since Rick has taken advantage of his height to rub your crotch against his thigh and Stan is dreamily kissing the sides and back of your neck and you're starting to forget there's a crowd, music, or indeed a world outside this moment.

The next song picks up its tempo and Stan disappears from your back, leaving Rick to grab your hips for some bump and grind. His mouth starts moving and at first you think he's talking to you, but you realize he's singing and you strain against the (nearly overwhelming) noise of the speakers and the crowd to hear.

It's lucky you know the lyrics because despite your best efforts you can only catch snatches here and there. His voice is surprisingly pleasant and his pitch correct, which is more than you can say for the last couple of karaoke dates you went on. And he can sing and still keep his hands roaming over you, hips moving yours in time with the beat, and it’s fun but you want to take a more active participation in your own seduction so you take some initiative and start touching him, too.

He smirks at you as your hands trace up his sides, fingers bumping over each rib through his thin shirt, and in an attempt to wipe the smugness off his face you run your thumbs over his nipples. It partially works; his eyes roll back and the words of the song choke off in his throat, but your eyebrows raise as you feel a hard metal bar through each one. 

Your experience thus far with piercings has been 10 EARS 20 GOTO 10, but your startlement is quickly throttled by your libido as you continue to manipulate them through the shirt and Rick moans loudly, clearly uncaring of whether anyone is looking. 

(A quick glance around shows no one is. Apparently feeling up a dude on the dance floor is de rigueur here, maybe even passé considering- wait, is that dude in overalls over there getting a handjob from a woman dressed as an eighteenth century gentleman, walking stick and Nivernois hat and all? This place is _ wild_)

Rick, apparently noticing your inattention, grabs your wrists and slides your hands up under his shirt, and you take the hint and start back in manipulating his nipple bars, cautiously at first, then more roughly as he groans and shoves his chest against your hands. 

“Just like that, yeah, _ shit_-”

Ms. Gentleman over there has given you confidence and Rick spits out a string of invective as you run one hand down over his jeans and palm his cock. It’s long, which makes sense, you think distantly, but holy hell you hope he knows how to use it or tonight is going to end in ice packs and bloodshed- 

“Checking out the merchandise?” comes Stan’s purr in your ear, and you grin as his hands find your hips and pull you back against him, “You wanna test mine, too, make sure you’re up for what you’re getting?”

You have a good idea right now, actually, considering what’s pressing against you through his jeans, and if he’s not proportionally as wide as Rick is long you’ll eat that lady’s tricorne hat, cockade and all. _ Jeeeesus _. 

Stan lets you go and you take a step forward, getting your thoughts back in some semblance of order. Rick exchanges a look with him, and at some unspoken signal Stan starts to say something but Rick talks over him. 

“Okay baby, you ready to do this shit or what-”

Stan slaps a palm over Rick’s mouth, nearly covering half his face. “Shut up, Ricky, lemme handle this, Jesus.”

“I’m sorry, “ he continues, turning back to you, hand still over Rick’s mouth- all you can see of him are those wide eyes glaring at Stan- “What my colleague is asking is whether you’re enjoying our company as much as we are yours, and whether you’d like to take this somewhere a little less loud and a little more private.”

Follow two strangers out of the brightly lit public place and into an unknown location when you’ve been unable to contact your friends to even let them know you’re leaving? Your libido joins forces with the alcohol chugging pleasantly through your system and rewrites the concept even as you think it; leave the too-bright, too-loud club with these two fascinating gentlemen in favor of a quiet place with some kind of soft surface where you can all get out of your clothes and really get to know each other? Hell fucking yeah! 

“Whenever you’re ready, “ you say, and they smile and grab your hands, heading towards the door. 

You’re not entirely sure how you get to their motel, or how far it is from the club you left behind (green lights? were there green lights outside as you came in?) but you assume drinks six and seven, grabbed as you worked your way through the crowd towards the exit, had something to do with that. The rosy glow the alcohol gives everything doesn’t quite cover the fact that is indeed a very cheap, very dingy room; while not outright filthy everything is worn and extremely shabby and in need of replacing. 

Rick covers the distance from the door to the bathroom in a couple of long strides. 

“ ‘M gonna go freshen up.”

He sways through the bathroom door and kicks it shut casually behind him. Stan sticks both hands in his jacket pockets and brings them out loaded with jewelry and watches, gems dripping from his fingers as he piles the shimmering hoard in the middle of the bed. There are delicate rings in a variety of precious metals, bracelets, necklaces, mens’ jewelry in chunky gold, expensive watches, and even a gold pocketwatch. 

“Good haul tonight, Ricky, “ he calls, and a muffled noise of agreement comes from beyond the bathroom door. You look at the pile in mild shock. 

"You were there...pickpocketing?"

" 'Course, " Stan said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Lot of rich fucks there, never miss it. They'll think they dropped it on the dance floor or during the orgy or whatever else they got up to."

"Ah, " he said, pulling a thin line of gold from the tangle, holding it up to sparkle in the dim light, "Perfect."

He reached for your hand and you watched, bemused, as he fastened a diamond tennis bracelet around your wrist.

"That's your cut."

"My cut?"

"Whaddya think he was doing while we were dancing with you?" Rick snickered as he exited the bathroom, looking- exactly like he had when he went in, you noticed, hmm, "If his hands weren't on you they were on someone else. And not for their benefit, either."

Stan grins. “It’s not real big carat-wise, somebody cheaped out, but it’s pretty.”

“It is, “ you agree, holding it up to the light. Rick takes hold of it with thumb and forefinger and spins it around your wrist and little sparkles of light flash on the ceiling. Stan scoops up the rest and stows it under the lining of his suitcase, where two layers of foam taped into the plastic shell hold it in place and deaden any noise.

“All right, business is over, time for the fun stuff.”

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you snugly against him. You smile and lean in, gasping slightly as he lowers his head and puts his mouth on your neck with a rumble of pleasure, teeth scraping delicate skin and making you shudder deliciously.

“You still up for this, kid?” 

You kiss him in lieu of an answer and he makes an approving noise against your mouth, and a deeper one when you bury your fingers in his hair. His lips are surprisingly soft and he kisses you until even the background noise of the city fades away.

Two long fingers press under your chin and turn your face away from Stan.

“My turn, “ Rick says, and you tilt your head up towards him as Stan releases you but he ducks by with a smirk and presses his lips to Stan’s instead.

“_ Oh_, “ you say wonderingly, as he takes Stan’s face gently between his palms and kisses him, excruciatingly slow and deep, trading tongues while Stan palmed his ass, pulling their hips closer together as they swayed.

“Enjoyin’ the show?” Stan grins, disengaging his face from Rick’s briefly, tilting his head back to allow the taller man to nuzzle his neck. 

“God, yes, “ you say, jaw slack.

“Wanna join in?”

“She’s probably a virgin, “ Rick snorted, and your head snaps up in protest.

“Hey! I’ve had sex before!”

“Sure, “ Rick laughed, “Some college boy with no imagination and a boring dick fucked you for ten minutes after a party. Bet he came before you and cried.”

“Fuck you, Rick, ” you snap, and he laughs out loud.

“T-that’s the fuckin’ idea, baby. Once you’re done with us you’re never gonna touch one of those little idiots again.”

You nearly point out that you hadn’t done a whole lot of touching those little idiots before, because of said idiotness, but that’s only going to prove his point. Instead you use your annoyance to bolster your courage. “Prove it.”

“Oh sweet thing, “ Stan growled, “That’s just what we wanted to hear.”

Stan wraps his arms around you again, holding you close. You wind your arms around his neck and he smiles. 

“ ‘Fore we start this, sugar, I need two things. First- birth control?”

“I’m on the pill, so we’re good, “ you reply, and Sober You might have a few choice words in the morning, but dammit, you came to New York for adventure so your libido reminds Sober You that it will also be Well-Dicked You come morning and it pipes down with only a grumble or two. 

“All right, if you’re sure, “ he nods, “And for the second thing, I’m going to give you a word- butterfly. You say it and we stop, end of story. You don’t say it, anything goes. All right? That work for you?”

You take a deep breath and nod. “All right.”

Rick interposes. “What’s the word?”

“Butterfly, “ you say, and he nods. 

“Good.” He pulls at your arms, tugging you away from Stan, and pushes you down on the bed, long limbs flailing slightly as he follows after. His teeth are grazing at your earlobes, your neck, your collarbones, your wrists, your midriff, half-teasing and half-tickling. He looks at your top, considering, and tears it down the front, ignoring your yelp of surprise.

“Hey, that was my favorite!”

He waves a hand dismissively and gets his fingers into the edges of your bra and you hurriedly unclip before he can repeat his wanton destruction. He doesn’t thank you but his mouth is suddenly fastened on your nipple and you suppose faintly that that is thanks enough. His fingers dig at your sides, at your hips, scratching painted fingernails along your ribs as you squeal. He surges upwards and his lips smash against yours, tongue licking along your teeth before you have a chance to catch up. Your tongue meets his and he makes an approving noise deep in his chest; he tastes like expensive cigarettes and cheap vodka and at that moment it’s driving you wild. 

Stan begins stripping you from the waist down, kissing his way down your hips and thighs and shimmying your lower half free. Rick pulls his mouth from yours to strip your bra and the remains of your top off and you’re naked and stretched between them on the bed, their hungry grins a mirror image of each other.

“Doesn’t seem fair, “ you say breathlessly, “I’m the only nude one here.”

Stan shrugs and drops his jacket to the floor and pulls his shirt off over his head. He's pleasantly hairy and more muscular than you expected, and his belly sets off rather than detracts from his broad chest. He looks a bit worried at first, but brightens as he sees that your wanting grin now matches theirs. 

“Better, babe?” he rasps, and you nod.

“It’s a hell of a good start.”

“Nah, “ he says, dropping to his knees in between your thighs, “This is.”

You technically have had oral before, in the same sense that women in porn get oral on film- two minutes of lackluster licking before moving on to what the guys in question clearly considered the main event. So when Stan kisses the insides of your thighs and adjusts your knees outward, you are absolutely not expecting him to dive in as though your cunt contained winning lottery tickets and the antidote.

He licks a hot wet stripe the length of your slit and slurps at your clit twice before diving back down, licking into you with a moan as you take a sharp breath and your back comes right off the mattress. He licks back up again, nuzzling his nose against you and starts in on your clit in earnest, sucking, circling, dragging his tongue, big hands on your thighs holding you open to him as your legs begin to shake. 

“Beautiful, “ he breathes, as you moan his name, “Just beautiful.”

He returns to his work, this time sliding one finger up and down your opening, getting it slick before he pushes it into you. Your head snaps back and your hips buck against him, and again as Rick chuckles and begins to tweak your nipples and Stan slips a second finger inside, twisting them up, down, and all around while you make a sound like a kettle at full boil, then he presses upwards, massaging, still licking you like the cops are going to pull him away any minute and you feel him groan against you, and that's it, your orgasm crashes through you like thunder, roll after roll as you’re shouting something that sounds like their names. Stan slows but doesn't stop until you scoot your hips away from him and go limp, panting. 

"I like her, " Rick muses, tracing the lines of your collarbones with one fingertip. 

"Me too, " Stan says, face shiny and expression smug, "It's good when they're not shy about lettin' you how they're feelin'."

You stare at him, nearly caught up on oxygen but still punchy, “That was incredible, I've never-”

He ducks back down and starts again, pressing his tongue flat against your clit and rocking his head and you wail as you come again with no warning, bringing your hands back down to push him off because it's too much to process, but Rick grabs your wrists and holds them flat to the mattress. Your hips buck involuntarily and Stan spreads your legs wider. He has the advantage on leverage and muscle and he holds your legs apart with his weight on his forearms while you attempt to thrash through the intensity, his mouth doing things you didn't even know were possible, and you're oversensitive and making sounds you're not even sure are human, interspersed with _ slow down_s and _ too much_es but you don't even think to use the safe word you were given because he is determinedly taking you apart and you're loving every second, every grunt and groan he gives as he feels you grind and flex against his mouth sending you higher and higher.

Rick's alternating between watching you and watching Stan tongue-fuck you into oblivion, grinning with heavy-lidded eyes. He might be rail-thin but he’s_ strong_, holding your arms pinned against the bed with what seems like no effort as you buck and scream and wail, and even though you're well past the point of overstimulation somehow Stan wrings another orgasm out of you and Rick chooses that moment to lean down and bite your throat, and everything goes white and you think for a moment that you might actually _ die_. 

Somehow you can’t manage to care. 

A few seconds later your eyelids flutter open and your consciousness filters back to gentle touches; Stan is stroking your sides and legs while Rick is petting your arms and chest. 

“You okay there, sugar?” Stan grins, and you sigh dreamily.

“Amazing, “ you manage, and he leans down to kiss your hip. 

“Good. While you’re resting, we can hash out round two.”

Round two, you think, and your mind reels. You push yourself to a sitting position, stretching, noting the pleasant aches you already have and consider how many you're about to end up with. They're going to kill you, and you're going to enjoy every minute of it. “Got any ideas?”

Stan nods. “I was thinkin’, how ‘bout I fuck you while you fuck him?”

Rick nods rapidly while you stare. 

“S-seconded.”

“Wait, what?”

Stan is already digging through one of the suitcases, and after a few grunts and curses he makes a triumphant noise and holds up a handful of shiny vinyl straps and buckles and a slim, smooth purple dildo. You had no idea your eyebrows could go any higher but here we are.

“You want me to wear that?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s clean, “ Stan says reassuringly, as though that was the only possible question you might have over this new development. 

"That's good, " you say cautiously, "But I've never-"

"Told you she was a virgin, " Rick cackles, and suddenly pinning him face down on the bed and fucking him stupid sounds far more attractive than intimidating. Maybe it'll wipe that self-satisfied look off his face. 

Then again, maybe not. Still, worth a try. "So I just put it on and what, stick it in his ass? Do we have enough lube for that?" 

You notice that you sound expectant instead of disturbed. They must be rubbing off on you. 

They’re definitely rubbing off on you, you decide a second later, when Stan pulls an enormous bottle of Astroglide out of the suitcase and sets it on the bed next to you and your immediate response is relief.

“Hey, be prepared, that’s the Boy Scout way, right?”

You giggle as you imagine the two of them as Boy Scouts. 

Apparently, Rick's imagining that too. “Hey, we should g-get some uniforms and go camping! S’mores and blowjobs...S’more blowjobs...”

He prattles on for a moment, stripping efficiently as Stan helps you off the bed and into the harness, cinching here and buckling there, until you’re looking down at where your new appendage stands out proudly. It’s an unusual sight, but not unpleasant, you decide. You rub your hand up and down the shaft experimentally and grin at the look both Stan and Rick are giving you. 

“Well?” you say, and gesture downwards. Stan chortles.

“Yeah, it ain’t gonna suck itself.”

You had actually meant it in a 'how do I look' kind of way, but Rick smiles, the most sinful smile you’ve ever seen, sliding off the bed and dropping lazily to his knees in front of you. He rubs his face across the head of the dildo, like a cat scent-marking, then opens his mouth and takes it in.

You hiss through your teeth, pleasure hitting you like a sharp jolt at the sight of him gazing up at you, mouth full and eyes bright, and you realize that you’ve developed yet another kink. Dating is going to be really dull when you get back to college, you realize, and you’re almost sad until you feel Stan’s warm presence at your back, his hand sliding down your arm. 

“Like this, “ he instructs, and takes your hand to fist in Rick’s hair. Rick gurgles happily,and Stan pulls on your wrist, your hand in Rick’s hair following, until his nose is nearly at the base and he chokes and moans. 

After a second or two he lets go of your wrist and lets Rick slide back long enough to take a gasping breath, saliva running over his chin, before you yank him forward again, relishing the guttural noises and what you think is a series of loving curse words. 

“Won’t even stop talking with a dick in his mouth, “ Stan says, confirming your suspicion, “Still tries it even when you gag him.”

As you release Rick again he leans back enough so just the tip of your borrowed cock is in his mouth and slides his hands up your thighs, thumbs meeting at the apex and sliding up under the rubber and vinyl to rub over your clit. You gasp, hips involuntarily bucking forward, and he chuckles around a mouthful of rubber and does it again, winding you up and then grabbing the strap-on in both hands and working the base against you. You moan, rocking your hips forward against it, and he leans back and lets go with a few last slow licks.

"G-get that fucking lube over here so she can fuck me, " he orders, and Stan snorts.

"Demanding little asshole, ain't he?"

"Mm, " you muse.

"I'm demanding because no one is giving me any dick!" Rick snaps, "There are three dicks in this room, a-and one pussy, and n-none of them are balls-deep in me or vice versa!" 

Stan hands you the bottle of lube and gestures to your new purple protuberance. 

"Go on. It won't shut him up but he'll make better noises."

You open the bottle and squirt a line of it along the dildo, spreading it around until it glistens. Rick climbs onto the bed on all fours and gestures to you, but you look up questioningly at Stan first. 

“ ‘Bout twice as much as that, sweetheart. You always need more than you think.”

You nod and apply more while Rick groans in melodramatic exasperation, until your hands are shiny and the dildo is dripping, and at Stan’s nod you approach Rick cautiously. You look at his (thankfully clean) ass (was that what he meant by ‘freshening up? Ass hygiene?) and bite your lip, aroused and concerned and confused all at the same time. 

"This ain't my first rodeo, baby, " he says, lifting his chin challengingly, "Stick it in and hang on. He's got enough snap in his hips for both of us."

Suddenly you don’t feel so timid. "That sounds like you don't think I can fuck you good enough, Rick, " you say, quirking a corner of your mouth and glaring at him. He glares right back. 

"He's had his dick his entire life and you put that on five minutes ago. Ten to one you don't even last the whole way through and he has to take over-"

The sound of your hand hitting his ass resounds through the room. You curse slightly- you hadn't held back and he’s got no padding on that skinny frame so god_ damn _ that hurt- but it's drowned out by Rick's satisfied moan.

"F-f-uck yeah. That's what I'm talking about-"

You belt him again, palm stinging from the impact, and grab his hip, digging in your fingernails until he hisses and bucks his hips at you.

“Finally! Get on with it already!”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a- warmup-”

“Not with something as skinny as that. Now get over here!”

You tip the bottle down his crack and squirt a big dollop; hopefully it’s cold (_would have put it in the beer fridge if you’d known he was going to be this mouthy _ you think, and grin) and press forward. The movement is unfamiliar, but you try to mimic what you’ve experienced from the other side of the equation and Rick is moving back against you, adjusting to your angle, and you breathe in sharply as it disappears up to the hilt and you’re pressed snugly against him, the base of the toy pressing pleasantly against your clit.

“Thaaaaat’s it, baby, “ he sighs, “Now use that thing like you mean it.”

“You forgetting someone, Ricky?” comes Stan’s amused rumble from behind you, and his warm presence is suddenly against your back, hands sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts and play with your nipples. You make a small sound and he ducks in to kiss your neck. You can feel him smiling. 

“You ready, sweet thing?”

You nod and he places one hand on your hip, presumably using the other to line up his cock because you feel the head of it press against your entrance and then he’s sliding in with a moan echoed between the three of you, you from the incredible stretch that is everything you’ve ever wanted in a dick, and Rick from the hitch of your hips forward and back against Stan. 

Stan holds still a moment, breathing heavy, and then mouths your name against the side of your neck.

“Shit, babe, you feel so good, your pussy’s fucking _ perfect_-”

He thrusts forward carefully, letting you get used to the angle, and you thrust forward into Rick, and fuck, he pushes back against you, and you grind forward, the base of the dildo pressing against your clit, which makes you tighten, which makes Stan thrust again, rougher this time, which makes you grind forward into Rick again, which makes him push back, and Stan’s hands are back at your nipples again, lips and teeth at your neck as he rocks that incredible cock inside you and whispers an endless litany of praise; how good it is, how good you feel, punctuated by grunts and groans, while Rick whines and pushes back at you, and an orgasm that is far more slow burn than sharp peak flows through you and you stop breathing for a moment until it flickers out and you take a few gasping breaths to catch up. 

This is probably Heaven, you think dreamily; Heaven has been inaccurately described all this time, it’s actually a terrible motel with two older thieves who have made you come more times than your previous dalliances combined. 

Rick’s making a series of quiet noises but is surprisingly patient so you start to fuck him in earnest, snapping your hips against him, wanting to make him feel as good as you do. Stan stops moving, letting you bounce on his cock for a moment as you use your borrowed one on Rick, then he pulls out entirely- a disappointed noise comes unbidden from your throat at the loss- and moves to kneel beside the two of you. He growls playfully as he looks at Rick and you see Rick’s hand has slipped back to grip his own cock. 

“None of that, Ricky, “ Stan says, and reaches over to pull both of Rick’s hands behind his back. You know Rick is strong, but although he struggles Stan is clearly stronger, and as you hold to Rick’s hips through the mild scuffle Stan pins Rick’s wrists together, and, casting about, reaches to the floor for his belt and uses it to bind his arms together, hand to elbow. Rick snarls but Stan reaches under his chest to twist one of his piercings and Rick’s snarl turns to a whine and he slams his hips back against you. 

You’re not sure you’ve ever been more turned on in your entire life. 

“Now, sugar, “ Stan says calmly, as though he’s not kneeling on the bed with an enormous hard-on still wet from your cunt, “When you feel like he’s had enough you can finish him off. But I’d make him beg first. He’s real pretty when he begs.”

“Not gonna, “ Rick says weakly, and Stan smiles as though he’s heard that a hundred times before. 

How to make him beg, you muse, idly beginning to rock against him again. A few things come to mind; you trail the fingers of one hand up his ribs to his piercing, twisting it gently in your fingers, sliding the barbell back and forth. Rick makes a hungry sound and you swap hands, still moving the jewelry gently for a moment, and then you let go to take hold of his cock at the base. He sighs gratefully and then you lean down to his waist and bite him hard enough to leave indents. 

“_Shit_!” he yelps, bucking so hard he nearly dislodges you, and you lick at the red mark for a moment before biting him again, just adjacent, and you feel his cock jump in your hand as he moans. You bite him a third time and suck a hickey into the skin on the other side of his waist, and then you grab hold of his bound arms with both hands and use them as leverage to fuck him deeply, digging your nails in, grinding your clit against the base of the toy with each slamming thrust. Rick’s howling underneath you as you chase down an orgasm you weren’t even sure you had left in you, but there it is, and you bury the dildo as deeply as it will go and ride it out to the background of Rick’s desperate noises. 

“And you thought I wouldn’t be able to fuck you enough, “ you mutter as you come down, and Stan's bark of laughter makes you grin. 

The bottle of lube is still handy and you squeeze a generous dollop onto your palms. 

“Thank fuck, “ Rick says, but curses in startled protest as one of your hands cradles his balls and the other grips his shaft, slicking that back and forth while studiously avoiding the head of his cock as you begin to thrust again, shallow and slow, and he whines and begs in a tone the polar opposite of the one he’d started with. 

“Fuck! FUCK! Please, baby- please, baby, _ please_!”

“Please what?” you ask, still stroking him, and the stream of words out of his mouth is absolutely the most inventive stream of profanity you’ve ever heard. You’re not even sure what language some of it is in. 

He ends the tirade with, “Please, _ goddamn it_, what do you want, blood? I’ll give you blood! I’ll give you whatever you want-” 

You grin and wrap both lube-sticky hands around his dick and start a twist and slide that makes the rest of the sentence dissolve in a _ wail_, turning your palm over him like you were trying to unscrew a bottle top, and he comes with a curse and shudders that keep coming and pulses you can feel, until he collapses entirely on the bed, still swearing quietly. 

“That all right?” you say sweetly, and Stan barks a laugh again and you realize as he begins to undo the belt around Rick’s arms that he’s still flushed and sporting a serious erection. 

Once the belt is undone he helps you undo the harness and wiggle out of it, leaving Rick to hold on to some of the straps and hobble to the bathroom, presumably to remove the toy himself. 

“That was pretty good for a first try, babycakes, “ Stan smiles, and runs his thumb along your jawline gently. 

You turn to look at Stan, confused. "Thank you, but you...you didn't want to come?"

"Eh, not yet, " he says, grinning, "Figured I'd wait for round three."

Round three. Christ. You don't remember saving any children from burning orphanages so what good deed you've done to deserve this is beyond you.

"How about this time we put you in the middle?" he continues.

"Yeah, " Rick says, returning from the bathroom, "That's fair. It's just like the old saying, you fuck my ass and I'll fuck yours."

You blink. "That's...not an old saying."

"Whatever, get on him already, " Rick snapped, waving a hand dismissively, "C'mon, jump on that cock already!" 

Stan smiles and settles back on the bed, leaning back against the pillows and gestures. "All yours, sugar."

You turn back towards Rick, slightly confused, as his dick is at best half-mast and that’s being generous. "Don't you need a while? To, uh, to recover?"

"Nah, " he says, digging a small plastic packet out of his discarded clothes, "Just lemme get a hit of this and I'll be right there. Wait, wait, better idea-"

He pushes forward on your shoulders until you're on all fours in front of Stan.

"Start sucking him off while I snort it off your back."

"You what now?"

"I know, " he said, putting up both hands, "Ass cracks are more traditional but I don't want you numbed out."

Tradition was not the concern you had, but going down on Stan sounds like a hell of a good way to start round three, so you lean in closer and rest your forearms on his legs.

"Are you okay with this?" you ask, looking up at him with your best innocent grin, and he laughs in a low tone that sends flashes of pleasure up your spine.

(Or possibly that's whatever grainy substance Rick is currently shaking out carefully along your backbone. Best not to think too hard on it.)

"A beautiful girl wants my dick in her mouth? Gee, lemme think about it for a while. Yes, please." 

"Your wish is my command, " you smile, and his chuckle turns into a strangled gasp of pleasure as you take the head of his cock in your mouth.

You can taste yourself on him, which gives you an unexpected thrill, and his grunts and groans are constant and pleased as you lick and suck him, leaning on one elbow so you can free one hand to stroke his shaft and balls. He caresses your face and shoulders gently, not trying to interfere with or dictate your motion, but you do your best with the angle you have to take as much of his cock into your mouth as you can, and he swears in an amazed tone you could get used to hearing.

“God, baby, you’re so good, “ he moans, and you flush with pleasure at the praise. It’s definitely another thing you could get used to hearing, you think, and then you turn your full attention back to what you’re doing before you can start to get maudlin about a one-night stand. 

You're concentrating so hard on it that you barely even notice Rick making ridiculous snuffling sounds at your back, nose dragging at your skin, but you do notice when his now hard cock slips into your cunt, causing you to moan around Stan's dick. 

"Jeeesus, " Rick snarls, "Yeah, when you're right, you're right, Stanley. That’s an A+ pussy right there, full marks.” 

He starts to move as Stan makes an agreeable noise, and you make an overwhelmed one- Rick does know how to use his length without hurting you, but he also manages to find exactly how far he can go before that happens, and it feels so goddamned deep you’re pretty sure he’s hitting your tonsils. It’s all you can do to keep working your mouth on Stan, but Rick is only lazily sliding in and out of you and leaves you just enough focus to make sure you’re still giving him the attention he deserves. 

It’s only a few minutes though before Rick grabs both your shoulders and pulls you to your knees. Luckily you manage to avoid injuring Stan, who makes an annoyed grunt.

"Rick!" you snap.

"Getting practice in before you start screaming it for real, that's a good idea, " he says, unperturbed, "Hop on Stan, baby, it's time to get this show on the road."

Stan maneuvers until he’s laying flat on the mattress and you straddle him, running your fingers through his chest hair. 

“You’re gonna come this time, right?” you ask, rubbing your palms over his belly, “Because I really wanna see it and honestly I think a round four would kill me.”

He laughs at that and gestures to his still hard cock between you. “I think I can manage that. C’mon, sweetheart, let’s end this with a bang.”

You laugh back and grab his cock, sliding down onto it with a moan of appreciation that he echoes. His hands take yours for a moment and you kiss his knuckles, blushing slightly at his warm smile. 

“For fuck’s sake, cut out the mushy stuff, “ Rick grumbles, but he strokes the curve of your ass gently, pushing Stan’s legs further apart so he can kneel in between them. 

"You ever done this before?" he asks, trailing his fingertips along your tailbone.

"No, " you admit, and he nods. 

"I thought so, that's fine. I'll go slow. To start, anyway, I’m not going to make any promises about once you get into it."

"Condom?" you ask, suddenly considering the potential mess. Come is one thing, but mixed with- well- that's quite another, you decide.

"Yeah, yeah, " Rick says, flashing a foil packet in front of your face before tearing it open with his teeth and rolling it on. He grabs the bottle of lube and squirts what feels like a ridiculous amount all over your ass; you yelp at the sensation and are briefly glad the bottle wasn’t in the fridge after all (or are you? Something to think about later…) and you hear him squirt another huge dollop, presumably on his dick. This suspicion is confirmed when you hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, and then you feel his lubey fingers pressing carefully at your asshole. He works you open precisely, apparently taking his cues from unconscious movement you’re making because you’re just holding still while Stan rubs your arms soothingly and is clearly trying not to laugh at your expression, whatever it is. 

It does feel good, though; it’s a new sort of sensation but it seems to amplify the feeling of fullness you already have from Stan’s cock, and you’re just fine with that and not expecting much more when Rick slowly replaces his fingers with his dick so the sudden spike in pleasure as he seats himself in you with a grateful curse comes out of nowhere. 

“Shit, “ you hear yourself saying, “Shit, is it supposed to feel this good?”

Both of them laugh outright and the feeling as their cocks slide together inside you, separated only by a thin wall makes you _ shake_. 

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, “ Stan promises, and begins to move, Rick following, thrusting in turns and you’re pretty sure that the world flipped upside down, or at the very least fell over sideways. You hear someone begging for more and realize dimly that it’s you, because you can hear the other two exchanging low chuckles so it has to be. Two cocks feel incredible, it’s as though each magnifies the other exponentially, and you realize with wonder that they must be able to feel each other, too, as they change up the pace and thrust into you at the same time. It’s not fast, not yet anyway, but it doesn’t have to be; it’s deep and slow and brutal and when Stan’s hand wedges in between you to find your tired clit with his thumb the further input is like an electric shock and you very nearly say the word they gave you, but everything he’s done to you has resulted in unparalleled orgasms, so you’re going to trust him now. 

He barely moves it as they continue that deep, dragging rhythm, and despite everything you can feel the faint markers of a potential orgasm, even though you were beginning to think you’d need to give it the week off just to recover. The slight pressure and rub is good at first but then isn’t close to enough, so you start to move on your own instead of following their lead, grinding against Stan’s thumb and upping the pace. This makes the double-dick feeling increase, which leads you to wanting more, which leads you to moving faster and grinding harder, and suddenly you are riding Stan like you’re in the home stretch of the Kentucky Derby while he gasps and Rick clings onto you with white knuckles and a grip that’s starting to bruise. He’s saying something that doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, but Stan says your name and your eyes snap to his and you come, like a train wreck, like a tornado, like a bridge collapse, like an asteroid hitting the earth. 

Rick swears gutturally and his fingertips dig into your ribs; you’ll have marks tomorrow but right now it just makes you finish harder, the wave rolling past its peak just as he snarls out something that sounds like _ yeah _ and _ god _ and _ fuck _ all run together and comes, jerking his hips erratically, breathing gone harsh in your ears. 

You wind down off the high and vaguely feel Rick slump loosely against your back but you keep moving- Stan has given you orgasms repeatedly all night without asking for a thing in return but to watch you enjoy yourself and you want to make him come more than you’ve wanted anything in your life to date. 

“C’mon, baby, “ you say, kissing him, touching him everywhere you can reach, adjusting your rise and fall until he’s making a continuous stream of noises, “God, you feel so good in me, I wanna make you come, you’ve been waiting so long, I wanna watch your face when you empty your balls in me-”

The breath catches in his throat and the smile he gives you is wide-eyed and feral. “You better watch now, then-”

You do. You watch avidly as his head tilts forward and his eyes close and the muscles in his neck and jaw clench and a long, drawn out groan tears out of him while you ride him slow and pant and marvel at his face, at the feel of his cock pulsing in you. It goes on and on and you lean down to lick his neck, still moving your hips until his head drops back on the pillow with a satisfied sigh.

“Shit, sweetheart, “ he says finally, when he’s finished, eyes still shut, “Shit. That was- goddamn, sugar.”

He pulls you close and kisses you, uncaring of the combined weight of you and the still-collapsed Rick on top of him. It’s surprisingly sweet, as Rick makes a satisfied noise and wraps his arms around the two of you, and Stan reciprocates. You’re comfortable and boneless and being lulled to sleep by the sound of their breathing and slowing heartbeats when you suddenly realize how much sweat, lube, and come is all over you right now. 

Rick has apparently come to the same conclusion. “C’mon, gotta get cleaned up or we’ll wake up welded to each other like some kinda Japanese art installation.”

He rolls off you and you roll off Stan, who watches you with half-closed eyes and tired smile as you attempt to stand without either collapsing or falling over sideways.

Surprisingly it's Rick that helps you into the bathroom, one long arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady as you stagger on wobbly legs. He makes sure you get in the tub without falling on your face, puts your hand on the shower rail, and turns on the water, aiming it at your chest and shoulders. He wets a washcloth under the spray before disappearing out the door. 

You stand under the water, letting it run over and down you as you stand passively, too exhausted to even think about doing anything but standing and breathing.

Rick reappears a few minutes later, muttering under his breath and tossing the washcloth in the sink. He steps into the shower behind you, still muttering, and grabs a bottle from the side of the tub- a grimy half-full bottle of Selsun Blue. He tips a glob into his hand and starts to wash you with it as if it were soap. He's brusque and efficient, and has you soaped down in no time before washing himself and his hair with the same quick efficiency, turning you under the spray to rinse you off before ducking almost double to rinse himself. He turns off the water and reaches for a towel, giving you a rough rubdown before drying himself with a fresh one (or what passes for it here.) 

Rick holds out his hand, face impassive, and helps you out of the tub and leads you into the room towards the bed. Stan is out cold, laying on his back and snoring softly.

"Every fuckin' time, " Rick snorts, "He comes and he goes. You could set your fuckin' watch by it. Go on, get in, I’m freezing.”

You clamber into the bed, cuddling up to Stan, who puts his arm around you in his sleep. You settle your head in the crook of his shoulder and Rick slides in behind you, pulling up the threadbare blankets and then throwing one long arm over the both of you. He mutters against the back of your neck, but before you can ask him to speak up sleeps pulls you under. 

You awaken to weak sunlight around the edges of the blinds and big hands tucking the blankets more firmly around you. You blink and look up to see Stan smiling at you. He kisses you sweetly, caressing the side of your face before gently pulling away.

"You're a hell of a sport, kid, " he says, "Sleep as long as you want, the room's paid until one."

He steps away from the bed and Rick swoops in. He grins at you, kisses his knuckles, and bonks you on the cheek with them, making an exaggerated 'mwah' sound. You laugh sleepily, and he gives you double finger guns and a wink and reaches for his bag, all expression dropping from his face the moment he turns towards the door.

Stan walks back into view, suitcase in one hand and fumbling in one of his pockets with the other.

"C'mon, " Rick whines from the doorway, "T-there's a dine-and-dash out there with our names on it!"

"In a minute!" Stan snaps, equal parts affection and irritation, and leans back to you.

“Here, sweetheart,” he says, dropping a couple of bucks on the bedside table, “Cab fare. Enjoy the rest of your vacation.”

You smile and stretch, yawning, but by the time you've floundered fully out of sleep and gained an upright position they're already gone. On the floor next to your torn shirt you find a relatively neatly folded pile containing an oversized short-sleeved button up in several loud colors and a very small (but thankfully very stretchy) ribbed undershirt. You don these, first putting on your surprisingly intact bra and bottoms, definitely committing several fashion faux pas with the combination. You can't seem to find your underwear. 

You grab the cab fare Stan had left for you but when you go to put it away you realize that your wallet is empty. They gave you cab fare from your own fucking wallet. 

You exit the room, swearing a blue streak, bracelet sliding over the bruises on your wrists, oversized shirt flapping around you and covering exactly none of your hickeys. You're going to have one hell of a time explaining it all to your friends, you think, as you hail a cab and slide in, rattling off the address for your hotel and ignoring the look you're getting before staring out the window and lapsing into bemused silence.

You never do find your underwear.


End file.
